Erik sighed. That was close.
Ted's voice crackled in the near silence. "All right, I have to assume you can hear me…"
Erik watched in horror as the local relieving himself in the weeds opened his bleary eyes.
"Ted says the local sheriff offered us a deal. They’re having some issues in town and they need some muscle to keep the peace. They can't give us any vehicles or supplies, but if we help them, they'll trade for what we've got."
Erik held his breath, watching as the man took a cautious step toward the line of cars. Please stop talking…
The radio broke squelch again with a little chirp. "Erik?"
The local zipped his pants and drew a pistol from his belt as he stepped through the weeds and onto the gravel parking lot. "Hey! There's a radio over here on the ground! I think the guy in the army tank—"
"It's a truck, you dumbass!" someone shouted back.
"Whatever!" the yokel responded over laughter. He picked up the radio. "He's trying to talk to somebody!"
Erik swallowed as four sets of eyes swiveled in his direction.
Awww shit.
Chapter 11
Survival
LIEUTENANT COLONEL CAROLINE EDWARDS would have killed someone to be able to scratch the back of her leg. She'd been bound and gagged, then blindfolded—the Russians had even gone so far as to put a bag over her head.
The rebels had found her in Washington Park after she'd bailed out of her F-16 and since then she'd been passed from one group to another, never staying long with any of her captors. It was like everyone was nervous having her in their charge and couldn't wait to give her away to someone else.
Not like anyone bothered to give me much to eat or drink. I don't take up a lot of resources…
She tried to adjust her position and bumped her lower back against the metal wall of her small compartment. Trunk. It had to be a trunk. She didn't remember actually being placed in a vehicle. She'd fallen asleep on her side in the corner of a room that smelled like it had been used as a urinal for a few years. She huddled in the corner, going over all her SERE training and trying to find a way to break free of her constraints as inconspicuously as possible.
When the Russians had first taken custody of her from the ramshackle group of rebels—teenagers with guns, really—they'd slapped cable ties over the crude duct tape restraints already in place. When they blindfolded her, she started to worry. Then the hood came down and blocked out what ambient light slipped around the rotten cloth. Her world plunged into darkness and there it had stayed.
She didn't know how many days had passed. All she thought about was escape. She focused her other senses to try and figure out her location.
At first, she heard nothing but Russian—she had no idea what they were saying, but judging from the muffled explosions and the frantic pace of footsteps in the hallway, things weren't going well for the invaders. She hoped whoever the hell was fighting back was doing so without mercy.
She remembered one dreadfully loud explosion that shook the entire building—suddenly giving her an acute case of vertigo as she imagined herself in a high-rise, swaying in the wind. Everything in the hallway went quiet. Only the chatter on radios broke the silence in between explosions and the roar of jets streaking overhead.
The pitch was off for Falcons, so she knew whoever was flying wasn't her squadron, but couldn't quite place the type of engine. Fighters, certainly, and a lot of them, but friendly or hostile? She had no way of knowing and so tried to block them out.
Eventually, when her knees began to ache and then go numb, someone stomped up to her and dropped a metal plate next to her. She felt something splash against her check. Groping about blindly as the footsteps retreated into the distance, she found a bowl of what she hoped was water. She sniffed it.
Please let it not be piss…
After a tentative sip, she discovered it was indeed water. She'd gulped it down greedily, not caring that some spilled down her chin. It was hard to figure out where to place the bowl with the hood tied tightly just under her nose. The voices in the hallway grew quieter until finally a lone radio squawked then faded as the owner walked way. She'd been left alone.
That was when Edwards truly felt afraid. They'd left her to rot, bound, gagged, and blinded, in a building deep inside an active combat zone. Would anyone find her? She didn't have long to wait. Before the air battle died down, another group of people entered the area speaking English.
They joked to each other and marveled at the jets criss-crossing the sky, pointing out damaged buildings and exploding bombs—she was sure they were missiles—and made their way through the rooms near hers. It sounded like they were scavengers, calling out radios and weapons as they found them. They sounded young.
They turned out to be a group of rebels sent to reconnoiter the abandoned Russian outpost. They were none to happy to find her and a furious debate had raged over what to do with her.
Edwards forced herself to focus on finding a way out of the trunk. Remembering how the rebels had argued over whether to rape her before turning her over to their commanders was not something that would help her escape.
As her fingers explored her small confines, she built a mental image of her new prison. She was laying on her left side, the hair on her head rested against the left rear quarter of the car—it had to be a car, the space was too cramped for anything else. She could just stretch out her slight frame if she did so diagonally. Edwards couldn't feel anything else in the trunk—no tire iron or jack to rub against her restraints.
The car hit a pothole, and she bounced up, slamming into the underside of the trunk. Edwards muttered a curse through her cracked, dry lips and prayed again for the ability to spit the damn gag out. She didn't understand why no one wanted her to talk. It's not like she'd try screaming. She knew she was well behind enemy lines. If she was going to get out of this mess, it wouldn't be because a rescue party arrived. She'd have to do it on her own.
The driver must have thought himself a rally ace because he juked and weaved like a madman. Each jostling of the car slammed either her head or her back into the side of the trunk.
The potholes were the worst though.
Edwards decided to try to see if the trunk held an emergency release hatch on the inside. Judging by the smell, she had serious doubts the car was new enough, but it was all she had. When the car skidded to a halt, she was slammed into the front of the trunk.
She froze, holding her breath and listening while three doors opened. The car rocked as people exited. Muffled voices announced something that sounded like 'present' and 'Malcolm', but she couldn't be sure. Someone started drumming on the trunk, the sound like thunder inside. She screamed defiance, a muffled, pathetic sound.
Without warning, the trunk opened with a metallic groan and her world, pitch-black for who knows how long, brightened just a shade. At the corners of her vision, the world devolved into gray. Daylight.
"In the name of Allah, take that hood off her!" barked a strong voice.
Hands grabbed her shoulders and legs. One cupped her butt and squeezed roughly as she was lifted out of the trunk. Her head snapped back as it clipped the edge of the trunk.
"Be careful, you clumsy fool!"
Thanks, asshole.
"She won't stop moving," a younger voice complained.
Edwards wrinkled her nose. Is that pot? Jesus. It's a wonder we're still alive…
"I would struggle too, if you tied me up like that. Look at her hands, they are so red! If she has been injured through your incompetence, you had best not return. Malcolm will have your head on a streetlight."
She stood between two sets of strong hands, wavering on her feet for the first time in…days? She wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but it was clear there were at least two opposing factions here. The question was, who were they? Did someone say Allah again?
"Whatever, yo."
"Show some respect when you—"
"How 'bout you re
spect this, pops?" growled the younger voice. She winced as the hands on her arms tightened. The sound of pistol slides being racked and at least one shotgun pumped made the hands holding her arms squeeze even tighter. Her cry of pain sounded like the mewling of a kitten.
Shit! No, no, no…no gunfight here, not now! Please…
"A'ight, a'ight! Don't get twitchy, son," replied the younger voice. "I get you."
Jesus help me. She whimpered, the sound muffled through the gag and hood.
"May the Prophet protect us, she is gagged, too?"
"That's how we found her, okay?"
"Yossef, get these fools out of here."
"You heard Samir. Move!" bellowed the deepest voice she'd ever heard. The hands on her arms vanished amid a flurry of muttered curses and fleeing footsteps.
Without anyone holding her up, her weakened knees buckled. Edwards braced herself to land face first on the ground but someone caught her.
"I have you. Hold still, I will not hurt you. Ali, get over here and help me get her to her feet. There—easy now."
She felt hands fumble at the back of her head. They were removing the hood. God, please hurry. She couldn't take another second of that gag in her mouth. All she wanted was to drink some water and close her jaw. Her muscles ached even more, the longer they took. She resisted the urge to whimper but a muffled noise escaped her lips, nonetheless.
"Hurry, get the hood off."
At last, her world exploded into light that crept in around the ragged blindfold. She closed her eyes against the bright white line that encircled her peripheral vision.
"Now hold still while I remove this…"
He gently pulled the gag from her mouth. She coughed, breathing in sweat, unfettered air for the first time in what felt like weeks. Her mouth was so dry. "Water," she croaked.
"Merciful Allah, look at her lips—Ali, fetch water. Hurry!" The man in front of her turner her by her shoulders with a gentle touch. "Here, there is a chair next to you. Would you like to sit?"
She nodded, her voice gone. Her body was at its limits. She just wanted to sit and catch her breath. As he lowered herself onto a metal chair, her hands clawed in vain at the blindfold.
"Allow me."
When the cloth was removed, she blinked back tears. The world was so bright. A wide-shouldered black man stepped back from her and adjusted the button shirt he wore. He slid wire-frame glasses back up his nose. Offering a slight bow, he proclaimed, "I am Samir, Malcolm's chief lieutenant."
She nodded, grateful to be dealing with someone with a little authority. Her watery eyes focused on the hulk standing behind Samir. No wonder those kids took off. He looks strong enough to bench press a car.
Samir watched her carefully. "I assure you, Yossef is not a danger to you. He is my assistant—"
The big man grunted. "Your bodyguard."
"You said it, not me," said Samir with a glance over his shoulder. "Who, I must ask, are you?"
She opened her mouth to speak but her throat was too dry. She shook her head, desperate for water. She pulled her hands up and tapped the Velcro patch on her flight suit.
Samir leaned in and adjusted his glasses. "Oh. I did not see that—Lieutenant Colonel Caroline Edwards." He straightened and looked at Yossef, who raised one eyebrow. Samir turned back to her and smiled, his teeth bright white against his skin.
"This is wonderful! Malcolm will be pleased."
Malcolm again. Who the hell is Malcolm?
"You think she's worth anything to the Man?"
The Man?
"A lieutenant colonel? She must be important. They take the safety of their pilots seriously. Get a message to Malcolm. He'll want to meet her immediately. This could be the bargaining chip we need to slow down our pursuers."
"If you say so," said the doubting giant. He lumbered off as a smaller man raced up carrying a bottle of water.
Samir took the water. "Thank you, Ali. Please find some food for our guest."
"What am I, your—"
"Yes, you are. Now move."
Ali stared at Samir for a moment, then glanced at her, his eyes burning. He muttered something under his breath and stomped off. Samir's slight frame wasn't threatening at all like Yossef, so his authority was real. Whoever Malcolm was, he was feared.
That's interesting. She looked around. Where the hell am I?
He handed her the water, and she brought it to her lips, greedily gulping the clear liquid. Heaven exploded in her throat. She drained half the bottle before pulling it away from her mouth with a gasp.
"Where am I?" she said, her voice sounding like it came from a corpse.
"We are just outside Philadelphia, Colonel Edwards. My…associates…found you in a Russian outpost abandoned after the battle."
Who won?
Samir took a knee next to her and examined her hands. "I will make sure these come off immediately. I don't think you'll be much of a threat, will you?"
She shook her head and tried to appear meek. You just get these things off my hands and feet, asshole. We'll see who's threatening.
"Good," he said, patting her knee. He stood. "If you behave, I shall protect you. Some of our…soldiers…are not as chivalrous when it comes to the fairer sex. You are lucky to be such a high-ranking officer. Malcolm will value you a great deal in the upcoming negotiations."
What the hell are you talking about—negotiations? With who?
Yossef trotted up to him, the very ground shaking as he approached. "Malcolm says he wants her. Now."
"Now?" asked Samir.
"Now," said Yossef, glowering at her. After a moment of squinted examination, he shrugged one massive shoulder. "She's important."
The unmistakable sound of a turbine engine whined and roared, echoing between the tightly packed buildings around her. Edwards lifted her head to the sky, squinting to see a familiar shape. Only a fighter jet made that kind of sound. It wasn’t a Falcon that much she could tell. She closed her eyes and strained her ears. At least two. Maybe more. This far south, they've got to be ours.
"Well, we should get a car," Samir said over the noise of the jets.
"Already got one," Yossef said, jerking a dagger-sized thumb over his massive shoulder. "Out front."
"Come," said Samir, helping her to her feet. "It appears you are going for another ride."
"Samir!" a voice echoed from the roof of the building across the street. "They’re sendin' in tanks!" The figure pointed in the distance.
"Do not worry, my friend," Samir shouted. "Our brothers have prepared for this." He turned to Edwards. "We need to leave now. Those jets make me nervous."
Ours then. Edwards smiled.
Chapter 12
Captured
"FREEZE!"
ERIK HAD TIME to stand, but that was it. He found half a dozen rifles pointed at him.
"All right, just take it easy—" he began.
"We got one!" called out a voice by the trucks. The early morning stillness exploded in shouts and clamor as men surrounding the M-ATV scrambled to take cover behind the trucks and point their weapons at Erik.
He swallowed. It felt like his heart was going to explode through his chest.
"Hands up!" called out a voice.
"Drop the weapon!" shouted someone else
"Hold your fire!" said the sheriff's voice over the loudspeaker. The sound silenced everyone. Erik opened his eyes, not realizing they'd been closed. He stared at Sheriff Jonston. The man wasn't paying any attention to him, but rather was focused on his men. He extolled them to lower their weapons again.
"Why should we do that?" said the local with the pistol directly in front of Erik. His eyes never left Erik's.
"Because if you don't stop pointing that gun at my husband, I'll cut you and your friends in half with this machine gun," said Brin's voice.
Erik shifted his eyes to the M-ATV and spotted Brin behind the open-ended maw of the M240 aimed straight at the sheriff and his men.
"Travis! For God's s
ake lower that pea shooter," shouted the sheriff. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but that gun she got will turn us all into Swiss cheese."
"Jesus," muttered the man in front of Erik. "They got girls in there, too?"
Before Erik could reply, the M-ATV's passenger side suicide door swung open and Ted dropped to the dirt. He scrambled around the back of the big vehicle, hands up. "Everybody let's just calm down," he called out in a commanding voice. "The last thing any of us wants is to start a firefight. It's too early in the morning for that shit," he said. He turned to Brin. "Point that thing somewhere else!"
"But–" Brin said, eyes on Erik.
"It's okay," Erik said in a voice whose strength surprised even him. "Go ahead."
It took a few more seconds, but Brin finally nodded and swung the M240 away from the sheriff and his men. She disappeared down inside the hatch.
When Erik turned his gaze back to the local who had spotted him, the man stared at the big vehicle, but his gun was now pointed at the ground and relief surged through Erik's chest. His heart rate began to slow toward normal. He leaned around the man and noticed the other locals had lowered their weapons as well. Ted and the sheriff approached each other cautiously.
"Feels like we sorta got started on the wrong foot," said Ted. He extended a hand. "That's my partner over there, Erik Larsson."
Sheriff Jonston shook hands in silence.
"I believe you met Erik's wife, Brin," Ted said jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the M-ATV.
"You got anybody else I need to meet?" asked the sheriff, removing his sunglasses.
Ted shook his head. "Just my two kids."
The lawman froze, stared for a long moment at Ted, then turned to look at Erik. "May as well come on over, son. I don't think anybody's gettin' shot today. 'Least not here."
Erik picked up his radio and angrily slapped it on his vest. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and strolled past the local that stared at him with a mixture of amazement and distrust on his face. Erik crossed the ditch and shook hands with Sheriff Jonston.
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 7